


All the Blood That I Would Bleed

by siximpossiblethings



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Cutting, Depression, High School, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-23
Updated: 2012-12-23
Packaged: 2017-11-22 03:36:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/605402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siximpossiblethings/pseuds/siximpossiblethings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"With the outstretch of an arm, he allows Dean to stand in the shadows of his mind and now that he thinks about it, Dean isn’t really all that afraid of the dark."</p>
            </blockquote>





	All the Blood That I Would Bleed

**Author's Note:**

> this is written for my ever so beautiful girlfriend, gio. awhile ago we were discussing hs!destiel headcanons and somehow this came up. i've owed her this fic for a few months now and only just finished it now. oops. unbeta'd, as always. song title from "Ho Hey" by The Lumineers. it's a great song, listen to it!
> 
> WARNING(S): self-injury, depression

Under most circumstances Dean would not be caught dead in the makeup aisle of CVS. He most certainly would never be testing varying shades of Cover Girl foundation all the while, cursing his lack of know-how in the cosmetic department. Because really, was there all thatmuch of a difference between Ivory and Classic Ivory? If there was, Dean didn’t know. Then again, this didn’t fall under “most circumstances”.

Just the other night, Dean had been laid out on Cas’ bed with the other boy on top of him. They melded into each other almost, perfectly comfortable and calm in their position. Castiel’s cheek rested on Dean’s chest, ear pressed right about where his heart lay. The steady beating relaxes him, amplifying the good, muting the bad. As per usual, Dean’s fingers have found Cas’ wrists which are wrapped in delicate pale skin. Pink and red cuts decorate the flesh, as if they were stripes on a tee shirt. He traces over the lines and feels the thin scabs. They’re the only boundary between Dean and whatever it is that his boyfriend tries to let out via blood and flesh.

Dean doesn’t understand how someone so wonderful can feel so horribly about themselves, they’re forced to do that.

“Babe?” His voice was slightly tired, almost raspy. The hand he wasn’t using to trace Castiel’s scars is resting on the small of his back.

“Mmm?” Cas’ eyes are shut, almost as if he was about to fall asleep at that very moment. His arm is a limp puppet only being propped up by Dean’s support.

“Isn’t it… hot, outside?” Dean was unsure how well he was going to phrase this. Whenever he and Cas discussed this it always had to be treated lightly. Despite that, the question captured Cas’ attention right away.

“I guess so,” he said. His eyes opened as he shifted his face’s position so he was now looking directly at Dean, chin resting on the dip of his chest. “Why do you mention that?” Cas doesn’t need to ask that; he knows the answer perfectly well.

Hesitating before answering, Dean continues after chewing over the words in his mouth for a few moments. “You’re going to be dying in those sweaters, Cas.” He doesn’t need to explain further. They are both acutely aware of what he means. It’s late May and the Kansas weather is going to turn boiling hot soon. The sweaters that Cas uses to cover up his scars are going to stifle him.

He’s quiet before replying, Dean’s words sinking in. Cas knows he’s right; every summer he is practically swimming in his clothing, a thick layer of heat between his clammy skin and the heavy fabric. “I don’t have many other options,” are the words he decides on. And they’re true, in Cas’ mind at least. He doesn’t view himself as a very creative or as an original person so the sweaters are really all he can think of to use to cover up the cuts.

It’s Dean’s turn to be quiet this time. Now that he thinks about it, he hasn’t exactly brought anything to the table to help solve this either. His fingers move up Castiel’s back, resting a bit higher now. “I’ll think of something,” he says, looking into Cas’ eyes. It’s a promise and Dean doesn’t break his promises.

Cas smiles, grabbing the hand Dean has been using to inspect his cuts and squeezing it tightly. Sometimes, even if they cannot be kept, a promise is all the comfort required.

~

The following day an idea came to mind. One of Dean’s friends, Jo, had been very much involved in Lawrence High’s school musical last month. Acting was never her thing, so she had volunteered to help with tech work, more specifically, the makeup department. Dean has heard of people using foundation or concealer or whatever the hell it is to cover up bruises and cuts. So he decides to call up Jo later that day, focusing on just how he’s going to word his question.

So, uhh, Jo, I was wondering how would you go about finding foundation that keeps scars hidden so my boyfriend won’t have to walk around in bulky sweaters perspiring to death all summer long?

Dean heaves out a sigh as he dials Jo’s number into his phone’s keypad. She knows Cas fairly well; the Harvelle and Winchester families had been close for as long as either Dean, Sam, or Jo could remember. Whenever one of them came home with a new girlfriend or boyfriend, it was sort of a part of the whole “meet the family” ritual that they meet the others as well. When Dean had brought home Castiel, Jo and Ellen, her mother, had made sure to make his acquaintance as well. However, despite all of this, Jo isn’t close enough to Cas to… well, to know about this.

“Dean?” she answers. She’s in her bedroom, feet propped up on her desk as she types up a paper for her chemistry class.

“Yeah, hey Jo.” Dean is lying back on his bed, eyes studying the egg shell colored ceiling. He has decided to just plow through the conversation, all the while hoping he won’t offer up more information than needed. “Listen, I’ve got to ask you something and if I get any cracks about it, I swear to go--”

“Oh, calm down, Dean. Just spit it out.” Jo has never been one to beat around the bush, least of all with Dean.

He lets out a sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “What do you know about makeup?”

~

“What’s that for?” Castiel quirks an eyebrow, her blue eyes surveying over the brown paper bag quizzically.

“You’ll see soon enough,” Dean replies. Had this been for anyone else, he probably would never have even considered it. But it isn’t for just anyone. It’s for Cas and he can’t just half ass anything for the guy. “Take your sweater off.”

“My sweater?” Cas shifts his questioning look from the bag to Dean. “Dean, I’m willing to try whatever you want, you know that, but I really can’t right now, I’ve got a chem test to stu--”

Dean cuts him off, rolling his eyes as he says “Not like that, you idiot.” He smirks, although on the inside he’s a little bit scared. He’s not sure if Castiel would be okay with this, if he would end up insulted somehow. He just didn’t know.

“I’ve got something to show you,” he continues. “But first, take your sweater off.” Dean sees Cas hesitate and his expression lightens in response. “It’ll be worth it,” he says, hoping that the affirmation will work.

Even though he isn’t sure why he is doing it, Cas begrudgingly pulls the wool sweater over his head. He’s in nothing but a tank top now, pure white against pale skin. He shivers in the cool air conditioned breeze that surrounds him and he looks so god damn small right then. Castiel’s arms are covered in cuts and he tries to hide them desperately by folding them over his chest.

It kind of breaks Dean’s heart.

Clearing his throat, Cas breaks the silence by asking “What are you going to do exactly?”

“Uh,” Dean says. He searches through the bag, having forgotten all about his plan at the sight of his boyfriend’s arms. Dean has to fight back the urge to kiss every single scar. Picking up the small glass container, Dean offers Cas a hopeful smile.

Castiel’s face is blank. He doesn’t know what to make of Dean holding up a bottle of CoverGirl foundation is supposed to mean.

“I figured since it’s getting hot out and you can’t just wear sweaters all the time,” he begins, attempting to explain what he wants to do. “That you might be able to wear a short sleeved shirt every now and then. All you’d have to do is put some of this stuff on and…” His voice fades away when Cas doesn’t move.

“Cas?” Dean’s mentally kicking himself now. For all he knows, Cas is about to throw a royal bitch fit at him for being insensitive There’s still no reply and by now Dean knows he’s fucked up big time.

“Just forget it, that was stupid of me.” His face is downcast and he tries not to turn a bright sanguine shade. “I’ll just let you--”

Dean’s words are cut off by a pair of slightly chapped lips freezing his.

“What was that for?” asks Dean, a look of confusion on his face. “I thought you were angry or something at me.”

“It was actually nice of you.” Castiel stands up straighter now, a warm smile on his face. It is a smile that’s almost always reserved for Dean and Dean alone. “Sweet of you.” He peppers another kiss at the side of Dean’s mouth, eyes shut gently.

“Just sweet?” Dean teases. His arm found itself weaved around Cas’ waist. With his hand resting on the small of Castiel’s back, it’s almost starting to feel like home.

“Oh shut it,” Cas says with a playful roll of his eyes. “Can you just try it out now?” The pink cuts on his arms are light, almost healed. They’re older, but a few are more recent than others. Dean tries not to think about when those slipped by his watch.

He nods, not saying a word. He and Castiel sit on the floor, Cas leaning against the bed with his arms extended outwards.

With the outstretch of an arm, he allows Dean to stand in the shadows of his mind and now that he thinks about it, Dean isn’t really all that afraid of the dark.

Trying to remember all that Jo had taught him, Dean takes the ivory shade of foundation out and the small white sponge along with it. After a little difficulty getting the makeup out of the glass bottle (and a joking snicker from Castiel), Dean manages to get some of it on the sponge. He holds back for a second, figuring out how to begin. It’s more difficult than he thought it would be.

“Babe,” says Cas. His voice is soft and reassuring. It’s ironic, really, that he’s the one comforting Dean right now. Typical Cas. “Just go for it. You don’t have to worry about breaking me.”

He smiles at that, eyes still focused on Castiel’s arm. He presses the sponge to his skin, dabbing at the cuts. The makeup is congealed and it’s hard to see how it can end up looking smooth on regular skin, let alone Cas’. But he tries, he really does. Dean wants to make this work for Cas. He’s tired of seeing him dying in the heat, miserable and moody. It’s not much, but Dean feels like the best he can give to his boyfriend is in a $7.99 bottle of drug store makeup.

“It feels funny,” Cas comments. “It’s gooey.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Dean says. “It looks kind of weird, too.” He chuckles, adding another dollop of foundation on. Soon enough, Cas’ left arm is completely covered in foundation. There aren’t many cuts on his right arm, just one or two. Dean covers those up fairly quickly.

“Alright,” he says. Laying the foundation to the side, Dean searches through the bag once more. “I think you’ve got to put some powder or somethin’ on it now. Jo said to set it, I think.” He pulls out a black compact, along with a brush.

“You asked Jo for help?” Castiel asks, looking up for a moment from his arm. He’s been examining Dean’s handiwork. His arm looks much smoother than it did before, but you can still make out the raised bumps of scar tissue.

“Uh, yeah,” Dean admits, almost abashedly. “I don’t know jack about this makeup stuff, Cas. I figured she knew what she was doing.” He shrugs his shoulders, beginning to dust the powder on top of the foundation. If he’s going to be honest, he did a pretty damn good job.

Cas has a content grin on his face, like he’s at peace with the world and perfectly fine with the way things are. For once, he’s okay with Dean seeing his scars, tracing them, being perfectly open about how what goes on in his mind manifests itself physically on his body.

Had he been asked what he felt at that very moment, safe would have come to mind.

“Well, that’s it, I guess.” Dean says, letting down Cas’ arm gently. “Is that okay?” He looks up at Castiel hopefully, although he would never say it out loud.

“It’s great, Dean,” he replies. Smiling, Cas scoots over closer to Dean. “It means a lot to me.” He presses a kiss to his boyfriend’s lips, soft and sweet like summer rain.

“Wait,” Dean says. He’s forgotten one last little detail. He pulls away from the kiss, shuffling through the bag again. “One last thing,” he says. A wide smile is decorating his face.

Castiel is confused again. He isn’t entirely sure as to what more Dean can do. But when he sees what Dean takes out, he smiles, this time bigger than ever.

In Dean’s hand there is a packet of seven tubes of body paint, all in the different colors of the rainbow. There’s a small little brush too, tiny and delicate. Cas wonders if it’s the same size as a brush one of the old masters would have used, painting majestic scenes on black canvases.

He begins with red, painting a thin strip along where a cut could once be seen. Dean goes on to orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet. The two of them are silent throughout the process, both enamored with the streaks decorating his pale arm.

It takes awhile, each cut a different color of the rainbow. But soon enough, the entire color spectrum covers Castiel’s arm. It’s sort of beautiful.

The paint dries soon enough, leaving Cas’ arm an array of brilliant color. It’s an unexpected surprise, but he can’t find fault in it.

“Have I told you lately that you’re kind of perfect?” Castiel gently pulls Dean closer, holding his jaw.

“Yeah,” Dean admits. Cas has never been someone to not dish out compliments at every given opportunity. “But I don’t think I’ve told you how perfect you are often enough, though.” Dean could care less about chick flick moments right now. He’s done right and dammit, he’s going to do even better.

“Dea--”

Cas doesn’t get to finish his sentence. He’s cut off by a kiss and a hand holding his. He doesn’t mind that he doesn’t finish his sentence. There’s enough said in that kiss to keep them talking for years.


End file.
